Though it annoyed him to a terrific degree, Arthur was great at LSD. It didn’t fit in with any other part of his lifestyle: his stuffy corporate job, his early rising, his one-banana-and-that’s-it breakfasts, his steadfast fidelity to his 35 year long marriage, his chocolate lab, his love of Simon and Garfunkel, his enjoyment of the films of Owen Wilson, his muted palate of earth tones that comprised his clothes, his Honda Accord, his absolutely staid conversation beginnings. But there was no doubt about it: he was goddamn great at dropping acid.

He had crystal clear visions that filled all five senses, he never really lost control of his judgment, he was sweet and wise, he remembered everything for after the trip to record in concise inspiring phrases, like “it’s the pauses between your thoughts that make you smarter” and “dogs are more fluid in how their emotions are tied to their bodies” and “more eggs, always more eggs.” His body was born to have LSD coursing through his veins and once he realized this he pounded the palm of his hand onto his 3 wood and exclaimed “This is really gonna muck things up.”